Bad Touch
by MidnightRhymer
Summary: Amy Blaine thought she was just the ordinary author. Don Flack, however, has his own ideas about her, and she's coming to find that they're all true. Will this one end up like the rest? DF/OC Established DL gratuitous 80s references. RnR M for later
1. Prologue Knight In Shining Armor

**_Ok, guys. I'm back again. I got the warning down this time; I do NOT own CSI: New York and I do NOT make any money from the stories. They're written for my own benefit. RnR_**

Prologue- Knight In Shining Armor

Being the only girl among five boys should have made me brave. Under normal circumstances, I was brave; I was bold too, and I threw caution to the wind. Inheritance allowed me to do that some days. But I didn't throw all caution to the wind; just some of it.

Sitting in that coffee shop, staring at that door, waiting for him to come through, I couldn't make myself be brave enough to talk to him. I couldn't make myself walk over to that door and lean against it. The only thing I _could_ do was do a psychological work up and think of what a great character he would make in my novel. He could be the hero; the knight to the heroine's princess. _Hey, that was good! The first good line you've come up with in a week!_ I ducked my head down and grabbed a pen out of my oversized laptop bag. I clicked it and wrote the line down on my hand before I pulled the computer out of the bag. Silently, I waited for the machine to start, and occupied myself with looking at the door. I had completely zoned out when the laptop made its general ding and let me know it was ready. Quietly, I punched in my password. When the opening screen unfolded, the document containing the latest Midnight Rhymer thriller was up already. And it was right where I needed it.

_She looked up into his piercing blue eyes with what she hoped was compassion. For a moment, she pushed her fury aside and tried to be compassionate. He was tall, almost as tall as she was. His hair was short, closely cropped and black. He had rescued her; he and he alone had stopped to save her. He had become the knight to her princess._

The door dinged softly, and I looked up. He just walked in.

No, not once had I stopped to ask his name; he who I had just thrust into the high life of Angel Brine, ace detective and the eldest of the Brine daughters. Of course, we all need a man in a mask to hold.

_That one was good too!_ I grabbed my pen and wrote it down on my hand as well before I shut the laptop and thrust it back into the bag. Silently, I slung the splatter painted black bag over my shoulder and stood. I kept my head down and prayed that I hadn't just seen last fall's epic thriller under his arm. And, dear Goddess, if I had, I prayed that he wasn't the book jacket reading type. I was wrong on both counts.

I could hear him grabbing his coffee and thanking the clerk. He was turning just as I was passing, and I thought I was going to make it. Instead, my shoes inhibited me from moving as fast as I wanted to; the inch high platforms, while insanely comfortable, were also very annoying to try and escape possible fans in. He turned just as the door opened again, and a blast of cold air shot through the café, instantly throwing my hair back and revealing the face that I tried so hard to hide in public. I heard the recognition in his near silent intake of breath, and I tried to escape through the doors. But, before I could get there, he had passed me, holding it open.

"Allow me, Ms. Rhymer."

_**Alright, alright, stop throwing tomatoes at me; there is an explination. It's a cheesy one but it's the best I've got; I suck at making up pen names for other writers. So, abracadabra, Amy Blaire is now Midnight Rhymer, renowned author extraordinaire. God I wish I were a novelist.**_


	2. Chapter One Bread and Butter

Chapter One- Bread and Butter

Gently, I nodded my head once to him in thanks and rushed out the door. He hadn't asked for my autograph or a photo yet, and I was hoping to catch a break. Turns out, I got lucky. His beeper went off, and suddenly, I wasn't so sure that he would have the time to ask for one. Instead, he apologized briefly and ran off in the direction of the 12th Precinct. In one guess, I managed to figure out he was a cop. Silently, I started off for my loft, which was the opposite direction but in the same jurisdiction. When I reached my building, platforms killing me all the way, I was glad to find that the doorman hadn't seen any of my favorite Deep Space Cowboys lately. I took the elevator to the loft and relished in the silence of the building.

I popped the key in the lock and gave it a turn before I stepped into the place I called home. Silently, I set my bag down on the carpet and plopped down on the floor. I plunked out of the boots I had worn for my very early morning meeting with my editors and then dug through my bag until I pulled out the sketch pad I kept in there for emergencies. I then pulled the laptop out and a set of soft pencils. I set the whole works down on the table and then raced up the stairs to get out of the foolish emerald dress I was wearing and into some jeans and a t-shirt before I realized that, while it was not an ordinary day in many ways, it was suddenly extraordinary. It became this because I remembered something; my brother, Eli, was coming over, and he wanted to know what a double shot mocha with whipped cream tasted like. I had forty five minutes to get him the coffee. Silently, I slipped into my shoes again before I rushed down the hall to the elevator, which I took down to the ground floor. My wallet was stuffed hastily in my back pocket, but I'd left my coat upstairs in the middle of January. Quickly, I rushed outside and ran to the coffee shop. Breathless, I stepped inside to have my breath stolen again. My blue eyed mystery was sitting with a medium height blonde man at a table in the back corner. When the bell clanged, he raised his eyes, and I lowered mine. Quietly, I approached Sarah, the morning clerk, and asked for my usual. She quirked her head at me, and I breathlessly told her about my brother's fascination with my choice of coffee shops. I hadn't yet told him that it was more for the people than the coffee; I could get what I wanted just about anywhere.

As I turned to go, my blue eyed mystery stood up and headed toward me. I went to make a break for it, only to find that my shoe laces were untied. One armed pin-wheeled for balance, only to be caught and used to steady me.

"Thanks," I whispered, knowing who it was.

I shuffled off to the side and crouched down to tie my unruly shoe. "You know, everyone I've talked to says that you're so bold and forward, but you don't seem so... bold," he said softly.

"You shouldn't believe everything you hear; it's not a smart or a wise habit," I replied as I finished my knot. I picked the coffee up off the ground and headed for the door, only to hear him say "stop." _What now? Can't I get through one day with only one embarrassing thing happening to me?_

I felt a warm overcoat drop on my shoulders. "At least let me walk you home," he said.

I was utterly flabbergasted. Not only was my mystery man living up to the picture he'd painted in my head, he was talking to me, a lowly author with blue fringe and plain old straight black hair. My lip was split, I knew that much, and I had at least one good shiner to show for the previous night's activities.

"Hey, Flack, where you goin?" came a cry, and I turned to see the other man at the table looking at us curiously.

"I'm gonna walk my friend here home if it's all the same to you. Head back in and I'll make it up to you later," he replied softly, and then he opened the door. "You know, it's not a good idea to be running around New York in January without a coat."

"I know. I was caught off guard by a cosmic slap in the face, if you'll forgive the wording," I muttered.

"And what cosmic slap would that be?" he asked.

"My older brother's coming to visit and expected a cup of my favorite coffee on the counter waiting for him because I told him it would be there," I replied softly.

"Not to be a little forward, but is Midnight Rhymer your real name?" he asked.

"I wish. I'm just Amy. Amy Blaine," I said before I could stop myself.

"Granddaughter of Jacob Blaine? The founder of the largest shipping company in the nation?" he asked with a double take.

"The one and only," I mumbled.

"That has to suck," he smiled.

"You have no idea," I replied with a laugh.

"Forgive me for asking, but you've got one heck of a shiner and a split lip to boot. You get beat a lot?" he asked.

"Nope. I don't have a steady boyfriend, so there's really no one to abuse me," I smiled. "But, you refuse to give the wrong Deep Space Cowboy an autograph and bad shit goes down."

"So, you got in a fight with a guy... over an autograph? Don't like to give 'em out, or what?" he asked, and I could hear the sadness in his voice.

"Nah, it's not that. A Deep Space Cowboy is one of those people from the fabled tribe of Crazy Folks that absolutely _love_ to show up at my door. The particular DSC that we happen to be discussing is also my own personal stalker. I'd love to hand him my autograph on the bottom of a restraining order, though," I said as we rounded the corner.

"Is he about five-eight with dark black hair down to his shoulders and big old coke bottle glasses?" he asked, and I looked up at him.

"How do you-"

"He's in front of your building, Ms. Blaine," he said.

"Amy," I said automatically, and my eyes turned to the doors of my building.

"I'm giving you one minute to pretend I'm not a cop," he told me.

"I knew it!" I said through my teeth.

I slipped out of his coat and handed it to him. He turned his head away, and I approached the dark haired man in front of my building. Jack, he had called himself. He approached me, holding out his hand. I clenched my fist at my side, but he didn't look at it. Instead, all he saw was me coming at him. To him, he probably thought. Instead, not caring if my blue eyed mystery cop was looking or not, I walked right up to him and threw the punch I had been waiting to throw. I watched as he staggered back, and then felt a pair of arms around me, guiding me away. Quickly, I spat at his feet and let myself be led to the building.

"I'm getting tired of that asshole," I muttered, knowing that it was my mystery cop.

"If you're Amy, I'm Don, ok?" he said.

A name to go with the face. "Ok," I said softly.

He handed me a small business card. "Don't hesitate to call that number, and I don't mean just if he comes back," he said, and I could hear the smile in his voice. "You throw one hell of a punch for a girl."

"I was born and raised in Hell's Kitchen, what do you expect?" I said with a smile of my own.

We stepped into the elevator, and I watched him fold his coat over his arm. His every movement was suddenly being etched in my brain, and if I wanted to I could list a thousand different adjectives describing it, but the one at the top of every list would have been graceful. It was what I needed for the final part of my book, and he must have noticed something because he was looking at me.

"What's up? You look like the cat that got the canary," Don asked me.

"I am! And you just became my savior," I answered, and I couldn't contain my excitement. I did something that the normal me would have done a while ago; I placed a chaste kiss on his cheek. But, the old me would have been ashamed of what happened next. I blushed bright red and apologized quickly. It was so quick that I started stumbling over words like you wouldn't believe.

"Slow down," he said as the elevator door opened and we stepped out. "Who says that I didn't enjoy that?"

"I don't see why you would," I muttered. "It's not like Paris Hilton kissed you."

"No. You're much more beautiful than she is," he replied.

I snorted. "Yeah, right. I'm just an ordinary writer from Hell's Kitchen who got lucky. I'm not beautiful or really all that talented," I tried to explain.

"Ordinary writer?" he asked darkly. "Then why are they calling you the Stephen King of mystery?"

"Because they're oddballs who like the idea of a woman saving lives," I growled. I didn't like being called talented by readers. That was probably why I didn't read my reviews.

"Why do this if you're not talented?" he asked me softly.

To that question, I had a complicated and un-understandable answer. "You wouldn't get it."

"A writer thing?" he asked.

"And a me thing," I answered.

"Try me," he prompted.

"When... when you come from money, and you've got a personality like mine, you want out from under that. You want something that you can call your own, but you don't like being called talented or special, because if you wanted that, you could use your real name. When you write, you don't do it because you want to. You don't do it to get famous, or at least the good ones don't. You do it because you have to. It becomes a drug after a while, and, when you've finally got something done, you know damned well that there are a small amount of people out there that want to see that, despite the fact that you're addicted, you're being productive. So you go find an editor and a publisher, get the work out there for the people that matter most, and then sometimes other people pick the book up. They tell their friends who go out, buy it, and read it, and then they tell their friends. Then, you have a fan base to publish for. It doesn't make you special or talented. Being an established novelist makes you luckier than the sixteen thousand other kids and adults out there that are trying to write for a living," I explained softly as we started toward my loft. "I put myself through college on those first four books; didn't use an ounce of my parents trust."

The conversation lapsed into silence as we neared the apartment, but I heard the click of his holster as we approached and saw a figure at the door. "ELI!" I cried, and he stood up and turned. I ran to him and wrapped my arms around him. "Eli, this is Don. Don, this is my brother Eli."

"My pleasure, I'm sure, but... what are you doing here?" Eli asked, and I could see him appraising Don.

I nudged him in the ribs before I handed him the coffee. "I ran out to get that for your pushy arse and left without my coat. He was kind enough to walk me home in his."

Quietly, he leaned over and rested his head on my shoulder. "Is he like you or like me?"

"I'm assuming he's like me, Eli. Don't get your hopes up," I muttered.

Eli turned to me and pouted. I shoved him inside and offered an apologetic smile. "See you tomorrow?" Don asked.

"Or call you tonight," I said softly. "After all, my favorite stalker can't take a hint. I might need a police officer to swoop in and save the day."

He smiled and turned to go, but, for some reason, he stopped and turned. And, I couldn't take that smile on his face anymore. I wanted to wipe it off there so fast, and that was exactly what I found myself doing. I bolted at him and watched as he instinctively opened his arms. I fit into them exactly, and I felt my lips press against his. At first he didn't respond, and I started to get the feeling that maybe this wasn't such a good idea; I began to pull away. But, his hand was suddenly firmly in my hair, pushing my lips closer. I could hear Eli laughing, and my hands stared to work their way along Don's waistline to his gun, but he promptly caught me. Before he broke the kiss and moved my hand, I slipped my own business card into his pocket.

"I really don't want to arrest you after that," he smiled, and I was amazed that he'd enjoyed it so much.

"You know, I gave you my last name, but you never gave me yours," I murmured.

"Flack. Don Flack," he said with his best impression of James Bond.

"Ok Double O One Seventh," I giggled, and we parted carefully, him looking behind him to make sure I didn't decide to jump him again. I slipped into my apartment and leaned back against the wall.

"What the hell was that? I thought you said he was your mystery man and that you'd never spoken before today?" Eli asked skeptically as I locked the door.

"Oh, come on, aren't I allowed to be spontaneous once in a while?" I asked.

"Hey, don't start with that again. That was not spontaneous- that was spontaneous _combustion_ right there. He was melting you on the spot, my sister," Eli laughed.

"Do you want dinner or do I have to bash your head in with the frying pan first?" I asked darkly, starting toward the kitchen.

"It's a shame that he's not gay. He's quite a piece of work. I'd love to get my hands on him for a model," Eli muttered, rubbing his hands together.

"I'll get you a sketch," I laughed.

"You'd better. That man was born to be on canvas."

_**This update was free. I'm holding the next one hostage until I get a review. *Points Flack's gun at update* Gimme the review of the chapter gets it.**_

_**Bwah hahahahaha. I have schizophrenia, sorry.**_


	3. Ch 2 The Hectic Life of NYPD Homicide

_**Oh, to my reviewers, favs, and alerts; I love you all. You make me so happy when skies are gray! So, I shall deliver you from the evil of regular stories with an update.**_

Chapter Two- The Hectic Lifestyle of NYPD Homicide

Without a word, Eli ate his way through my usual three course meal before he sat back and let out a loud belch. I gave him a four for it; I'd heard better from my other brothers. The conversation turned from Don Flack to his occupation; from there, Eli's ADD took over and we were off on art again. By the time four rolled around, he was stuffed and talked out, and I marched him out of the loft and down to his car, all the while safely looking around to make sure I didn't have to use the card in my pocket for anything other than a casual phone call. I'd hate to drag my mystery man back to arrest my stalker.

"Hey, you're that girl that Don walked home, aren't you?" I heard as I started back to my apartment building.

"Yes..." I said tentatively, looking over to see the blonde man from the coffee shop that morning.

"I'm Danny Messer," he said, offering his hand.

I took it in my own, surprised to find it slightly smooth. "Amy Blaine," I said.

"Yeah, Flack said something to that extent," he replied. "Do you mind if I come up to your apartment with you?"

"No..." I said, confused but intrigued.

With him trailing, we journeyed toward the elevator, but I quickly ducked to the stairs when I saw who was in front of it. "Why are we taking the stairs? There was only one person waiting back there."

"Trust me, you don't want to take that elevator with me," I replied.

"He's a neighbor or something?" Danny asked.

"No, he's... he's my dad," I muttered.

"Oh... I... I get that. He's kind of an asshole?" Danny asked bluntly.

"When he found out I was going Ivy League, he was overjoyed. When he found out that I was studying criminology and forensics, he wasn't so happy," I explained.

"Ah, that old thing; so, what do you do, anyway?" he asked.

"I'm a writer," I replied as we huffed our way up to the top floor.

Danny was silent as we walked after that. When we did reach the top, he seemed short of breath, but I was smiling. "Oh, I love my doorman," I muttered as I opened the door.

"Why?" Danny asked, breathless.

"At the front desk, there's this little button that lets you jam the elevator. My father's allergic to exercise unless there's something in it for him. He comes here once a month to find the elevator stuck between two floors, whether there are people inside it or not," I explained.

"And I just happened to pick the worst day of the month to come here," I heard from behind us.

"Hi Dad," I muttered.

"Have you considered taking that job?" he asked darkly.

"Nope, and I'm with a friend from NYPD, so you can take yourself all the way back down the stairs now," I growled, turning to face him.

My father went white and turned around. "I'll be back next month."

"And I'll be waiting," Danny said.

He rushed back down the steps.

"You didn't have to do that," I muttered, opening the door.

"But I'm pretty sure Flack's planning on keeping you around for a while, so you might as well get used to me," he replied.

"I'm assuming this isn't a social call. You're here to warn me about the Boys-In-Blue We've-All-Got-His-Back code where if I break his heart I'm going to have fifty cops on my ass, right?" I said softly.

"You've dated cops before?" Danny questioned.

"No, but I write about them and my brother's on the force... ok, half brother, but that's beside the point. Look, I'm sure there's some macho thing about this, but... I'm not planning on breaking him in half. I've never been able to do that to anyone at all, ever, and I'm not about to start, ok. I really like him, and he's a fun guy, but I'd rather shoot myself in the foot than break his heart," I answered softly.

"That's my reason for being here. Flack sent me down; he got called out on something, but he wants you to come out for drinks tonight. He said he'll call you about an hour before we're going," Danny said, and I watched his frame relax. I had passed his test.

"Am I right in assuming that his last relationship didn't go so well?" I asked tentatively.

"Flack could tell you more than I could about that, but yeah, you've got the gist. I don't ever want to see him like that again," Danny said softly.

"I don't blame you," I muttered. I could still remember when my brother's first relationship had fallen through. It had been scary to watch the transformation from the perpetually happy brother I had known and loved to the sorrowful man that sat on the edge of his bed for three days wishing he had his boyfriend back. I hadn't known what to do. "I don't blame you one bit."

"So, do me a favor, and show up tonight, ok?" Danny smirked.

"Yeah, I think I will," I said back softly.

When my phone rang, I tripped over myself a dozen times to get to it. I sandwiched it in between my shoulder and my ear as I said hello.

_"Amy?"_ his heavenly voice asked.

"Yeah, Don, it's me," I replied softly. My head was beginning to spin from talking to him.

_"Do you want me to give you directions or can I pick you up?"_ he asked. He sounded eager to do the later.

"You sound like you want to ride in a car with me, so... I'll take the directions," I said sarcastically. "How much time do I have before you get here?"

I heard a knock on the door. Phone between my shoulder and my ear still, I opened the door and laughed. "I guess that's not the exact answer you were hoping for," he said as I shut my phone. He shut his as well and stepped in.

"Not exactly; is this ok, or do I need to put something classy on?" I asked with a smile.

"Oh, trust me, I like you better in jeans. But, you may want to bring your coat with you this time," he replied with a smirk of his own.

"Oh, thanks for reminding me," I said with a laugh, rolling my eyes at him.

"But you'd look better in heels," he said suggestively.

"Yeah; no. I only wear heels to business meetings and formal affairs. I'm a tennis shoes chick all the way," I replied with a laugh, and suddenly I found my hand entwined with his.

"You know, that was a pretty slick move with the business card earlier. Where'd you learn to do that?" he asked as I led him to the couch so I could slip into my tennies.

"I took a leaf out of my brother Jake's book. He did that to his wife before they were ever dating. It caught her attention real well," I laughed.

"I'd say so. It certainly caught mine," Don laughed, and he sat down beside me with his arm around my shoulders.

"So who exactly are we going out drinking with?" I asked as I sat back and looked at him.

"A couple of friends from work," he said innocently.

"And is Danny going to be one of them?" I asked with a smile.

"Tell me he didn't give you the We-Got-His-Back-And-We're-Killing-You-If-You-Break-Him speech?" Don asked with a groan.

"Oh, he came with the intent of giving it, but my mom and Jake are cops, so I knew all about it before he said a word to me."

I couldn't help but laugh at the look he gave me. "Lana Blaine is not a cop," Don said.

"No she's not. I was talking about my biological mother; my father's ex girlfriend, Mariah Rose from Homicide at the 12th Precinct. You might know her," I said with a smile.

His arm stiffened. "Mariah Rose is your mom?" he asked in disbelief.

"Relax. She's not going to kill you, if that's what you're thinking, Don," I said softly.

His arm did not relax. He stayed stiff and rigid beside me, and I couldn't help but wonder at what was going on in his head, I leaned into him, and he didn't move. I could tell that something was wrong, and instantly I knew what.

"You're the one who trained her, aren't you? The tall, dark and handsome one who wouldn't stop hitting on her for three years," I smiled.

"Yeah," he said, and he flinched away as I lifted my hand from my lap.

"Hey, don't... please, don't be scared of me..." I whispered, and I moved very carefully away.

His arms were around me in an instant, and at first I didn't understand, until he pulled me closer to him, and I let my head fall on his chest. "I'm not. I just thought you were going to slap me and toss me out, that's all," he murmured.

"I... I wouldn't do that," I said softly, and his cell phone went off, scaring us both.

"Flack," he answered gruffly. "Yeah, I know we're late. I'll be right there."

"Oops," I giggled.

"Oops indeed. We were supposed to be there half an hour ago," he smiled, and together we stood up from the couch.

Around the table, in order, there was Danny Messer, his wife Lindsay, Stella Bonasera, Sheldon Hawkes, Adam Ross, and Mac Taylor. They all greeted me warmly, and I began to wonder just what Flack had told them about me. It wasn't until I sat down that I found he'd been watching me for just as long and intensely as I'd been watching him. Don kept his arm around my shoulders the whole time I was there, and they all had a ball talking about work, which I understood. Princeton criminology and forensics was hardcore, and I found that I could contribute to the discussion, and that left Flack as the only one there who didn't have the knowledge of what was going on. But, he laughed along with the rest of us. There were no geek jokes being told, but Adam did tell me a rather funny story about Danny running around with his panties up in a bunch while Lindsay was in the hospital.

"He just didn't know what to do without her," Adam had laughed.

From the group, I got the impression that Mac was the unanimously voted-in leader. He seemed kind, gentle, and fair, but he had his own views and ideas apart from the group consciousness, making him an excellent leader in a pinch. I could also tell that he was ex-Marine by the way he spoke. Stella seemed to be a bright and happy person on top, but beneath I sensed she had her own demons to deal with, and they were dark indeed. She looked to Mac as a friend and a mentor, and I began to wonder if she maybe had feelings for him as well, but I didn't know if they were reciprocated. Sheldon seemed to be the odd one out of the rest of the group, and it wasn't entirely because he was black. Later into the conversation, I learned that he had been an ME, but he wanted to learn how people got on his table. He seemed perpetually happy enough, but oddly detached; he laughed along with the rest of us, but he was not quite as boisterous. Lindsay also seemed to be an oddball, but she fit in better than Sheldon. I sensed that she, while in love with Danny, was not quite as happy in New York as the rest of us. I learned that she was originally from Montana, and I could tell that she was rather homesick. She also seemed to have trouble reconciling with her past, as she didn't tell little anecdotes about it. Danny was a bit of the jealous, ever-loving, ever-worried husband type, but he was New Yorker to the bone, and he seemed to have the attitude to go with it. His hazel eyes would turn to Lindsay once in a while, and he would just smile secretively. I could tell that he loved her as much as she loved him. Adam, who I could plainly see was stranger and smarter than the rest, seemed to be more childlike as well. The emotional scars were plain on his body; he, like me, had been abused as a child, probably by his father given the way he treated the men around him with fearful respect and errant distrust. He also wrestled with his past, attempting to keep it tamed and behind him, when it kept popping up in front of him in every case he handled.

"So, Amy, what did you do before you became a writer?" Stella asked me suddenly, and all eyes were focused on me. I didn't really like the spotlight.

"I went to class in the morning, waited tables in the afternoon, and went back to class at night," I said with a smile.

"Where did you go to college?" Mac asked curiously.

"Princeton," I mumbled.

"Impressive," Sheldon commented.

"Was it fun?" Danny asked.

"Let me put it to you this way; if I was still at Princeton doing this, there would be about seventy other people standing around that I didn't know mooching off whoever was buying. And we did this kind of thing a lot," I smiled.

"Sounds like a lot of fun," Danny said sarcastically.

"Well, that was just social hour. The parties involved a lot of beer pong and wet t-shirt contests," I laughed.

"Did you ever win one?" Don asked me quietly.

"Wouldn't you like to know," I smiled secretively. In fact, I'd won quite a few.

"As a matter of fact," he started, and I felt his hand slide down around my waist and pull me (and my chair) closer, "I would."

The rest of the table smiled at us, but I blushed a bright red. Silently, the blush fading, I moved one hand from my lap and rested it lightly on his knee. This was an everyday ordinary interaction between me and the men in my life, since we were all related. He must have sensed that it was normal, since he didn't even tense. But, very, very slowly, and gracefully, I started to slip my hand up his thigh, lightly brushing my fingers against the sensitive skin of his inner thigh. If he was perturbed, he didn't show it, and I don't think anyone else noticed what was going on under the table except Adam, who was sitting beside Don. My hand came to rest about six inches from the crotch of his jeans, and I left it there. Adam looked at me with a silent smile before he and I both rejoined the conversation.

"Was that another trick from Jake's book?" Don asked me as we walked out of the bar. I had had a few beers, but most of the night had been spent talking. It was definitely a social hour; I had enjoyed myself immensely.

"No, actually, that was one of my own. I only got to try it once in college and it almost got me pregnant in a bar. It was actually kind of funny, looking back on it," I smiled.

"Almost?" Don queried.

"Don, I'm still a virgin," I giggled softly.

"Still? A pretty girl like you who knows their way around a man is still a virgin?"

"Never found anyone I wanted to sleep with. I did a lot of things with a few different guys, but sex was not one of them," I said softly.

"Please tell me I did not just get involved with a dick tease," Don laughed.

I laughed along with him. I had been called that before, but I had told all my boyfriends (I had a grand total of four at that time) that I would not sleep with them unless I wanted to. Strangely, however, I hadn't bothered to tell Don that. I assumed that he understood, but... I didn't know if I understood that anymore. I liked him a lot more than I'd ever liked any of my other boyfriends, and, from what I could tell, he liked me that much as well.

"No, you did not just get involved with a dick tease," I giggled.

"Walk you up?" he asked quietly.

"You can stay for a movie, if you want," I offered quietly.

"I'd love to," Don said, and I was so glad that I hadn't been too forward.

"You pick the movie, I'll pop the popcorn," I smiled as Don shut the door.

"I should probably warn you before we get much further; I might not be able to call as often as you like. I'll try to get in a call every day, but I might not always be able to. I-I don't want you to freak if I don't call or something and start checking the morgue," he said, looking down at the floor.

"Did she freak out every time you didn't call?" I asked calmly as I pulled down a bag of popcorn.

"She?" he questioned, crouching before my movie cabinet.

"Your ex-girlfriend," I answered, a blush creeping into my cheeks.

"Oh... Danny told you about that, huh?" he asked, and I heard the couch sigh as he sat down on it.

"Not exactly; I guessed and he confirmed," I replied as I put the bag into the microwave.

"What, no old fashioned popcorn maker?" he asked. I could hear the smile in his voice, but it was strained.

"You're skirting the question, Detective Flack. If you don't want to answer it, say so," I said softly, turning my head so he could see my smile.

"I want to answer... I just... don't want you to flip or something," he said softly.

"To gruesome for my virgin ears?" I asked, watching the popcorn revolve so that I wouldn't look at him and blush.

"Not necessarily. It's just... It hurts to think about it."

I tried to stay where I was. I tried, desperately, not to move. I didn't want to seem so emotional, but I couldn't do it. I started out walking toward the couch. By the time my feet touched the carpet of the living room, I was flat out running toward the couch. He opened his arms perfectly and caught me again, and my lips were on his, tasting everything about him. I planted my knees on either side of his hips and sat up to my full height. My hands found his short hair, and I tangled my fingers in it as well as I could. He responded with a fervor that my other "lovers" had never been able to match. It didn't help me any that we seemed to have been physically made for each other. Perfect height, the way I could mold myself perfectly to him. Nothing was helping me in keeping myself away from a decision that I had never felt ready to make; to fuck or not to fuck.

"We should stop," he started, but my lips were back on his again, "before we do something we might regret later."

I sat back. Never before had a guy told me to stop, and I wasn't used to it. And, as I found he kept his arms securely in place around my waist, he felt that I felt that I had been rejected. "Would you regret it?"

"No, I was worried about you," he said softly, and I could see the yearning in his eyes. He was obviously used to going faster, to sleeping with a girl on the first date, but, for some reason, he didn't want that from me. At that exact moment... the microwave dinged, and my train was completely derailed, and he knew it. Don smiled at me, and I threw him a grin back before I went to rescue the popcorn. As I opened the microwave door, however, the phone rang. I grabbed it off the hook and put it between my ear and my shoulder before I went back to my popcorn. However, what I heard from the other side made me drop the glass bowl I had been getting. It shattered on the linoleum, slicing up my feet and legs as it did so. Don was at my side in an instant, but the damage was done.

_"She's dead, Amy! Mom's dead!!"_ Eli cried from the other side.

The phone slid out next, and only one word could pass my lips before I collapsed completely.

"M-Mommy?" I whispered, and two silent tears left their trails down my cheek.

Had Don not been there to catch me, I would have gone bottom first into a pile of glass. Instead, I fell right into his arms, and started to sob. I felt him swing my legs up into his arms, and silently he carried me up the stairs. That one word began repeating in my head, and it was pouring out of my mouth in long, loud sobs. I was being a baby, but I didn't care. My mom had just died on what was turning out to be the happiest day of my life.

"Amy, what's going on?" Don asked.

I snapped back to reality to find myself sitting in the middle of my bed, Don's arms around me, rocking us back and forth. I hiccupped a couple times and tried to gather my thoughts enough to form a sentence. I started with the easy stuff.

"Eli called," I whispered, and I let out another hiccup.

"And then?"

"He... he told me... told me that our... our mom's... she's... Oh God, Don, she's dead," I sobbed and, the whole world collapsed around me again. I just couldn't keep it together.

From there, Don laid us down on the bed, his arms still wrapped around me, and I felt strangely safe. From there, I cried myself to sleep.

_**Ok, it was a literary decision. No more tomatoes, please, guys. I realize that you're angry, but, please, stop... not that... guys, put the piano down. *Crash***_

_**Ouch...**_

_**Reviews will keep the chapters coming. I'm not holding chapter three hostage this time, but if I do, I'll have to steal Danny's gun. Lol... not the one in his pants, btw.**_


	4. Chapter Three American Eulogy

Chapter Three- American Eulogy

When I woke up in the morning, it was to the sound of frying bacon. My legs felt like hell, and my hair felt quite mussed. I distinctly remembered a pair of arms around me, but they were gone then. I sat up in the bed and ran a hand through my once sleek hair. It was, I found, frizzy once again. I ran a hand across my face to find tear trails down my cheeks. And then, like a bolt of lightning, it hit me. _My mother's dead_ my heart whispered to me, and fresh tears made their way down my cheeks. I stood up, slipped out of my jeans, pulled my t-shirt over my head, and couldn't have cared less who was cooking in my kitchen. I slipped into the bathroom and undid the strap on my bra. I slipped my panties down my legs to the floor, and turned the hot water on. No cold, just hot. I stepped under the scalding spray and proceeded to wash thoroughly, until I was completely clean. I hadn't stopped crying.

After a good twenty minutes, I stepped out of the shower and grabbed a towel. My skin was beat red from the spray, and it was an ungainly color for me. Slowly, however, it faded to the natural tan that I never seemed able to get rid of, even though I had no place to sunbathe and didn't really like tanning. I pulled on a pair of pajama bottoms and a t-shirt over my rattiest bra and underwear. I didn't feel like getting dressed.

I was still crying.

Silently, I sauntered down to the kitchen. When I looked up, it was to see Don's back in front of my range. I could still hear the sizzle snap of bacon being cooked. In the living room, Danny Messer sat on the couch, staring at the blank screen. I pulled out a chair (it made a weird noise on the linoleum to me that morning) and sat down quietly. I crossed my arms on the table and put my head down on them. I didn't like the being awake thing anymore, but I knew I had to be social; I had people in my apartment.

"Did Eli call back last night?" I asked. My voice was hoarse and foreign to me.

"Yes. He asked me to tell you to call him as soon as you woke up. I told him that you'd call when you were ready and not a moment sooner," Don said softly.

"I'll never be ready; not for that phone call," I muttered as Don came over and set a plate of bacon on the table.

"Why?" he asked softly, and I saw him sit down in the chair beside me and felt him put one arm around my shoulders. The world seemed to have righted itself again when he did that. He didn't think I was an immature brat; he wasn't making breakfast because he was leaving me after we'd barely gotten started.

"Eli got saddled with the eulogy. I'm the youngest; he's going to pull the age and profession cards to get me to do it," I muttered, and I heard Danny get up off the couch.

"And that's a bad thing how?" Danny asked. "You're a writer, and from what it sounds like, you're the only one who can give your ma justice."

"Not my ma; my mom. There's a big difference in our family. When referring to me, Ma is my biological mother. Mom is Lana," I said softly. "And there's no way I could give her the justice she deserves. I could come close, maybe, but I'd never be able to do what needs to be done. She was just too good of a person."

"It sounds like it," Don said, and he pressed a soft kiss to my forehead. "But you'll be alright. I promise you, you'll be alright."

I wanted to say _Of course I'll be alright. I've got you, don't I?_ But, in light of the fact that we'd actually known each other only for two days, I had to keep that particular thought in my head. So, I simply nodded, picked up a piece of bacon and began to nibble on it. Don stood up and hunted around the kitchen for something, but I couldn't tell what until I saw the eggs on the table. "The pans are hanging over the island, Don," I smiled, and I felt my spirits lift a little when his face tinged pink as he got one down.

As if it were a normal, everyday occurrence, my doorbell rang. I jumped, but Danny went to open it. Everyone I knew of knocked unless it was a three AM house-call or something. I was _not_ used to the sound of the doorbell. In a strange fashion, however, I wasn't prepared for who came through the door, even if my heart told me that Danny and Don had to know who it was. The first person I saw was Adam Ross. He was carrying a Tupperware dish full of pancakes. I looked down at the table for the first time and realized why the chair had made that ethereal sound against the linoleum that morning; it was a spare chair that I hid in the utility closet for when all my brothers came over. The chairs were always mismatched to the table and to each other, but Danny and Don gave the table such a sense of organization that it looked as though all the chairs belonged there.

Adam set his dish of pancakes on the table before he came over and sat in the chair that didn't have Flack's coat on the back of it. He, unlike Danny and Don, didn't try to talk to me. He could tell my fogged brain was trying to decipher what the hell was going on in _my_ loft.

The next person through the door was Sheldon Hawkes with a dish of what I could only assume was French toast. He took the seat beside Adam, and I could see him in my peripheral vision as he began to look me over. His scrutiny did not go unnoticed by Adam, who nudged him once, but I didn't care. The Doc continued to stare at me intently, and I could tell he was checking me over for signs of a suicide attempt.

The next person through the door was Lindsay Messer and her bundle of blankets and diaper bags and carriers. She looked to Danny, smiled apologetically, and whispered something in an undertone about not being able to get a babysitter.

"It's ok," I said softly, and I stood up from the table. Everyone looked at me surprised.

I beckoned her to follow and led her up stairs to what could only be described as a nursery. I heard Lindsay gasp, and I wondered what she thought went through her. "A lot of my brothers have kids. We have get togethers once or twice a month and they can't always get babysitters. So, I put this room in," I explained.

"Do you have a lot of brothers?" she asked quietly as she put the baby down in the crib.

"Ma Ambrose had a lot of boys and so did M-Mom..." I stumbled a little, and tears threatened to go cascading again. Without a word, I wiped them away. I knew what would fall to me, and I wanted to go back downstairs.

I sat down just as Stella walked into the kitchen. She was carrying a Greek dish that did _not_ look like breakfast, and that thought was reinforced by Don, who put the dish in the refrigerator. She sat down beside Sheldon, and glanced at me once. I offered her a weak smile, and she returned it, obviously glad that I was recovering somewhat. The shock had worn off, and I could feel the world coming together at the seams again. My brain didn't hurt as much as it had.

Finally, Mac Taylor came in. He was carrying a large bowl with some kind of pasta dish in it, and as he came up I recognized the sauce as Alfredo white sauce. My face, for the first time, pulled into a soft smile. Danny and Lindsay came back from the door and sat down in the two unoccupied seats. Don set a bowl of eggs on the table and sat down beside me. I felt his hand grasp mine under the table and giving it loving squeeze.

"Thanks, guys. I really appreciate it," I said softly, looking at the table full of friends that I had just gained.

They all looked at me and nodded. There was no praying, no moaning; they just started talking, careful never to leave me out of a discussion. Adam spoke to me the most, explaining to me a very, very strange internet fetish that laced the case they were working on. "Sounds like you're looking for a woman, not a man," I said, and the whole table went silent.

I swallowed my bite of toast, and looked up. Even Don was looking at me.

"What?" I asked.

"What are you basing that on?" Mac asked me.

"Four years of under the table criminology classes and a dump truck full of personal experience, Discovery channel, and gut feeling," I said softly. "It makes sense, though. Ninety percent of all online relationships are sought out and started by females. It's the male that takes it to the next level and asks to meet the woman, usually not the other way around. Plus, the remorse shown by the killer afterward indicates possible schizophrenia or severe bipolar disorder; two mental diseases that tend to sway toward the female population. Aside from that, the method of killing is far too vicious to be a disgruntled domestic partner looking for revenge. It's too personal; too hateful. Only an angry woman can come up with that kind of hate. You're looking for a black widow."

Mac stood up from the table and went to the window wall. I could hear him on the phone with someone, presumably Sid the infamous ME, asking about something. I blushed bright red, thinking I had just ruined breakfast and turned myself into some kind of sideshow freak. But, Don began rubbing small, calming circles in the back of my hand, and I felt myself relax again. "You may have just broken the case," Mac said as he came back in.

"Huh?" I asked. I was confused. I was just a writer; I didn't expect to be right.

"In all cases, there was sexual activity pre-mortem. A black widow, you called it, kills the father of its children," Mac replied softly.

"Yeah, I know... I just... wasn't expecting to be right..." I said softly.

"Do you doubt your theory?" Sheldon asked.

"No, the mechanics are sound, but theories aren't always right," I said.

"We've been looking at male suspects for this case for a month. You may have just saved it from becoming a cold case," Sheldon said.

"That doesn't explain the one female victim, though," Danny said softly.

"Copycat," Mac replied.

"No. If it was a copycat, you'd know about it. Your perp is either trying to throw you or bisexual. Was the female the newest?" I asked. I was getting into a skin I hadn't worn since college.

"Yes," Lindsay said.

"She's switching tracks, contacting females, hoping for a keeper," I said.

I could tell Don was watching me and my transformation with mild anticipation. He was thinking something, and I didn't necessarily like what I was seeing. But, I knew that he'd never try to hurt me. Even if I'd only known him two days, something in my heart told me he wouldn't.

"A keeper?" Sheldon asked.

"We're talking about an emotionally disturbed woman; one who was probably abused in the past by a boyfriend and never fully recovered from it," I said. _Like me,_ I added mentally. "She's trying to find someone perfect for her; someone who fits her like a glove. Every time she fails, she either becomes enraged or isn't herself anymore. And, the more I think about it, the more it sounds like schizophrenia instead of bipolar disorder. If she were bipolar, she would have left something behind to show who she was, but that would be the only way to connect the cases. But, these are methodical, organized murders. They suggest some amount of premeditation, but, if you're trying to get back at the world, you'd start with the man who abused you. And, from there you'd hit all your other relationships. Last night, you said that they all had internet dating accounts. You want to look at the last two people everyone contacted," I said softly.

"Where did you learn all this?" Danny asked.

"I-I didn't learn some of it. Some is just a gut feeling. The rest was from my psych professor, who taught criminal profiling on weekends. He signed me up for his class for free," I said softly.

Simultaneously, their beepers went off. It was a call in, and I knew it. Don planted a kiss on my forehead, whispered that he'd be back, and grabbed his coat off the back of his chair. I blew him a kiss before I stood up to clear the table. I froze in the act of moving the bowl of eggs from the table to the counter and almost broke down as I sunk to the floor and put my head in my arms. Only Lindsay was left in the apartment, having gone upstairs to get her baby. She set the carrier down on the floor and started toward me. I looked up at her and watched as she crouched down in front of me. She put her hands on my shoulders and I looked up at her.

"Mom used to clean the table. When she did, she'd feed the leftover eggs to the dog. When I left that house, I never got a dog... I like dogs," I said softly. I knew I was rambling, but it was keeping me grounded.

"I don't go on shift for another hour; let me help you clean up," she offered.

"No... I-I have a eulogy to write," I whispered.

_In __**Song of the Century**__, Green Day talks about what they call an era of static and contraband that's leading us into the Promised Land. My mom didn't believe in a Promised Land or in much of anything for that matter. What she did believe in, however, was the power of her children and the lives they chose to lead. She backed us up in everything, even if some of us weren't her children. She believed in the power and integrity of the way she raised her children._

"She believed that, despite an era of static and contraband, her children would make it so much better. She watched carefully as her oldest son, Jacob Blaine made his way through the police academy. She watched fearfully as her next son, Matthew Blaine made his way up the ladder and into burning building after burning building. She watched with pride when Mark became an EMT, when Luke became a teacher, and when Eli became a successful artist. And she watched as I fought my way through college, through double majors and mean professors. She watched me go through phase after phase. She watched my brothers come to my rescue after different boyfriends did different things. But, what she watched with the most pride was when her little six children family grew to have grandchildren. When her children would come to Christmas, and, despite different beliefs and customs, different careers and religions, we would join together as a family again," I choked out. I was crying, in front of my family, but I didn't care. "She got to see what many mothers never get to see. She got to see just how far her children could and would go together."

I couldn't stop crying then, and, through the tears, I could only watch as Jake stood. Silently, he approached the podium, and helped me down. He stood me across from him and put his hand out. I smiled and put my hand on top of his. Matt came up next and covered out hands with his. Mark, Luke, and Eli came up and covered our hands with theirs. Down one, down two, down three, then up in the air. Everyone erupted into laughter.

"She wouldn't have wanted this to be a funeral," Jake said.

"She would have wanted us to party! Not mope," I laughed.

The whole room was suddenly lighter, happier. We all mourned her that day, but we did it the way we were supposed to, not in a way that we deemed unhealthy.

Sitting in the back row as the pall bearers (all my brothers and my father) took my mother outside, I could see the glint of Don's blue eyes. Sitting beside him was Danny Messer; beside them; Lindsay, Stella, Sheldon, Adam, and Mac. I smiled softly, blushed a little, and then made my way down the aisle to Don's side.

"Are you stalking me, Detective Flack?" I asked with a smile.

"Maybe; do you mind?" he asked quietly.

"Not at all," I replied. "You're riding with me."

"I couldn't do that," Don replied, ever the gentleman.

"Not even for me?" I asked softly.

"I suppose I can manage that," he said. "I'll catch up with you guys later, ok?"

They all nodded at him and then stood. They filed past me, offering their own little smiles and complements. Only Mac stayed after. "Flack told me that you didn't want to do the eulogy. For someone who didn't think they could do it justice, you gave her a light not many saw of her," Mac said softly.

"What people assumed and what she really was are two totally different images, Detective Taylor. Lana had a love of life that no one could have paralleled. The only thing she loved more than life itself was her kids. She told us once that we were her life, and no matter what happened to her, we had to stay together. And, together we stayed," I said softly.

"If you need anything, Flack has my number," Mac said softly.

"Thank you," I replied, and then I entwined my hand with his.

"You know, for payback for this, I just might make you go to the policeman's ball with me," Don said later as we drove to my apartment.

"You know, tomorrow, all my brothers and their wives and kids are coming over for dinner. You should come," I said softly.

"That sounds like a family thing. I don't want to intrude," he said, but I could see the longing in his eyes.

"I'm serious, though. They all annoyed me about you before the viewing. They wanted me to tell them all the juicy details. I managed to shut Eli up, but I don't know how long I can keep him quiet. It'd just be better if you'd show up," I prompted.

"Still, I don't want to intrude on your-"

"It's not grieving, Don. We do this every month, at least once, if not twice or three times," I smiled.

"If you're sure," he said as he parked.

"Trust me, I'm sure."

_**Long time, no post. I assure you, I was NOT holding this one hostage. I've been struggling with severe writers block. Sorry.**_

_**Read and review or I steal Danny's gun and hold chapter four hostage.**_

_**Again, this has been a public announcement from the Midnight Rhymer Franchise.**_


	5. Chapter Four Family Ties

Chapter Four- Family Ties

"Will you stop fidgeting?! They're really harmless, I promise," I said softly, watching Don as he bounced around on the couch.

"I don't like letting you do all the work," Don growled.

"Oh, if it'll get you to stop making that spring squeak," I said, thrusting out the handle of the spatula. "Watch the chicken, don't let it burn."

He jumped up and ran toward me like a little kid, but I could see that, as he neared, he was reserved again. He was scared, and I knew it. As he turned around, I casually, as if it were everyday that he was in my apartment, watching my chicken as it grilled, I wrapped my arms around his waist. "Calm down, Don. They're truly harmless, and I told Jake that he wasn't allowed to bring his gun," I whispered with a smile.

"I'd calm down a lot more if you wouldn't mention gun and Jake again," he said, but I could hear him smiling. "He's got deadly aim."

"Why do you think I don't play football with him on the opposite team?" I laughed.

"So this is the infamous Don Flack?" Matt asked as he led his wife and daughter into the room.

"Sarah, why don't you go upstairs and play. I bought some new coloring books and crayons," I offered softly, watching as her eyes lit up and she ran off. "Yes, Matt, this is the _infamous_ Don Flack."

I watched my brother as he appraised Don. He nodded once, grasped his wife's hand, and wrapped me in a one armed hug. "He's not like the others, right?" Matt asked, the slight Italian accent creeping back in.

"No, he's not, Matt."

"He better not be. I work with that asshole!" Jake said, coming up the hall with his pregnant wife.

"I see you finally managed to get a babysitter for those boys of yours?" I asked, scowling at him.

"Nope, they're coming up in the elevator with the Tier Mi Su," Jake replied.

"Ah, too crowded?" I replied, opening the door wider.

"Quite so," Veronica replied softly with a smile.

"HEY! Matt, get out of there!" I growled, and I came at him with the spatula.

"This is supposed to be a dinner party! Why can't I eat now?" Matt snarled.

"Because not everyone's here yet, and you haven't pulled me out of any burning structures, so I don't owe you!" I yelled back.

"Is it always this hectic?" Don asked me, taking the spatula.

"It'll be worse when everyone gets here, Donnie," Jake said with a smile.

"Why's that?"

"Because we're Blaines; we give each other hell when we get together," Jake and I said in unison.

"Interesting choice of words, my brotha!" Mark's familiar voice called from the door.

"What are you, a vampire? Get in here!" I laughed as I watched him hesitate on the threshold. "Where's Maria?"

"She's with her mother for a birthday celebration," Mark replied. Mark was the only one of my brothers that didn't marry a Jewish woman or wasn't gay; he'd married a Hispanic catholic.

"Awe... but Maria's the most fun!" I laughed.

"I resent that," Mary laughed. Mary was Matt's wife.

"Then control your husband and get him OUT OF MY KITCHEN!" I growled, running at Matt with nothing but my fists.

"Oh, poo," Matt laughed, and he ran.

"Would ya look at that? Eli and Luke decided to show up on time for once, and they came together!" Jake laughed.

"Ok, first, I would like to say that we've only ever been late twice, and both times, it was Luke's fault," Eli laughed.

"Elijah Blaine!" I shouted. "How dare you tell the truth? That's my job!"

The whole loft erupted except for Don, who merely smiled. "Inside joke, right?" he said.

"Donnie, I never told you this story?" Jake said with a smile. Don shook his head. I moved toward the table, grabbing Luke by the arm as I went. "When they were little, Eli and Amy used to fight like cats and dogs! But, whenever Eli got hurt, whether it was on accident or his own fault, he'd run up to Mom and tell him that Amy did it." Luke stood at one end of the table, and I stood at the other, listening to the story. "Amy would run up to Mom and point out what happened, how it happened, where it happened; everything right down to the color of Eli's underwear when it happened. The joke used to be that it was Eli's job to lie; Amy's job to set the book straight. Well, when Eli was in first grade (Amy was in kindergarten at the time) he fell off the swing and broke his left arm. He ran up to Mom screaming and crying about falling off the swing, but didn't once mention Amy. But, sure enough, thirty seconds later, Amy comes running down the stairs, ready to tell Mom what really happened. Mom says 'It's alright, Amy. Eli told the truth.' And Amy looks at him dead in the eyes and says 'Elijah Blaine, how dare you tell the truth? That's my job!'"

Flack laughed at the mental image of a little me saying something like that, and I could tell that tonight was going to arm him with more knowledge than I wanted to think about.

"How about that time you tied me up by my shoestrings in a tree?" Matt called down the table. I let out a sigh. When I had called last call for stories, I was hoping that they would take a hint. Instead, the fervor of their calls intensified until everyone but Matt had had their say. And he had to pick the stupidest stunt of our childhood.

"Alright, alright, but this is the last one, ok?" Everyone nodded. "A long, long time ago on a small plot of parkland in Hell's Kitchen, there was a great oak tree. Matt and Amy Blaine were fascinated with the oak tree, and, even when Matt entered high school, they still went down to the tree from time to time. One day, Matt had made Amy very, very angry in the school yard during lunch. She was in sixth grade; he was in tenth. He had told everyone that Amy Blaine didn't have the guts to sit up in the old oak tree at the edge of the school yard alone, which was a lie and he knew it. Amy had sat up in the tree hundreds of times, mostly all by herself. So, Amy climbed up to the top of the tree and sat. But, Matt hadn't told her that there was a new rule at the school where you couldn't climb the tree anymore. So, Amy got in trouble for climbing the oak. Needless to say, Amy wanted revenge. So, she waited until everyone was gone, and then convinced her brother to walk to the Kitchen Oak. When they stopped in front of the tree, Amy double black dog dared Matt to climb up in the tree and sit for an hour after dark. Now, a double black dog dare heard or seen by their mother was ancient sacrilege; a darkest form of blasphemy. It was just the sort of ruse that the Blaine children loved to use to get revenge. Thusly, an hour after dark, Matt slipped out of the house and started down toward the Kitchen Oak, with Amy following right behind him. When Matt climbed up into the tree, Amy went around back and shimmed up the old rope swing, which was right underneath Matt's branch."

"SO THAT'S HOW YOU GOT UP THERE!" Matt shouted, and the table erupted.

"Carefully, Amy tied Matt's shoelaces to the tree, and then pushed on the branch. Matt went tumbling forward, and then Amy ran back home. She ran into the house and yelled to her mother 'A boy at school double black dog dared Matt to tie his shoe laces to the lowest branch of the Kitchen Oak and hang like a bat and he's doing it!' When Lana Blaine managed to get her husband to go and free their son from the clutches of the Kitchen Oak, she was murderous. She beat Matt over the bum so many times with that old belt of dad's that he couldn't sit down right for a week. And I got the French benefits; I sat up in my bedroom window and laughed myself to sleep," I finished.

"You weren't supposed to tell them that part," Matt grumbled.

"I know," I replied with a smile.

"Sounds like you had a fairly normal childhood," Don laughed.

"Until I was sixteen, I did. And then, Dad got rich, tried to spoil all his kids to make up for being an asshole, and set up all these bank accounts in our names with all this money in it. I didn't want a drop," I replied.

"Ah, but you've used it before," Jake challenged.

"Yeah, to buy this apartment in between books," I laughed. "Asshole owed me anyway."

"Oh, one more, please? Tell him about how you got him off on that murder charge!" Jake called.

"Oh fine, but _this_ is definitely _the_ last story," I growled.

"Got your Dad off...?"

"He wasn't guilty, Don. I was still taking under-the-table forensics and criminal profiling at the time, and I could see that! There was this cop, Truby, I think his name was, who was so intent on getting revenge on Dad that he tried to prosecute him for the murder of his girlfriend when Dad was in Miami on business. NYPD called me in as a consultant on the case and I cleared him. That's all there was to it," I said softly. "I didn't do it because I wanted to. I did it because he was my father, and while he wasn't always the best, he gave us all a roof to live under and a place to call home."

"Truby? Dean Truby?" Don whispered.

"Yeah, Don, Truby went after us. We could all see what he was doing, but we thought it was just good police work. Don't flip, ok?" Jake said. "Maybe I shouldn't have asked for one more.

Silently, I squeezed his hand. "Hey. Hey, don't worry about it," I whispered.

"I'm not," Don said softly, and when he looked at me, I could see the truth in his eyes.

I could see the love there, as well.

_**Ok, everybody together. 1, 2, 3 AWE! Ok, for the record, I'm not from a big family. I've been around them before and seen how they act, but it was very hard for me to replicate it on the page. If I didn't do something right, tell me, because I can always go back in and fix it. Same goes for all the chapters! And for those of you that read Do You Know The Enemy, I'm working on an update, but the writer's block plague is coming back around, so I'm sorry. I'll get to it when I can, I promise.**_

_**MR**_


	6. Chapter Five Lemon Interrupted

Chapter Five- Lemon... Interrupted

As I ushered Eli out, I looked back to see Don leaning against the wall, shaking his head and laughing under his breath at my efforts to get my brothers out of my house. Eli poked his head back in the door, and I put one hand in his face and shoved him back out before I shut the door and locked it tightly. I sank down to the linoleum and laughed hysterically, mumbling about stupid reasons for having to get together at _my_ apartment. Don pushed off the wall and knelt beside me. I felt one arm under my knees and another around my waist, and then I was up in the air, held in his arms bride style. Giggling, I ordered him to put me down before he hurt himself, and he looked at me, hurt in his eyes.

"You think that I'm too weak to carry you?" he asked, setting me down on the couch.

"No, I'm too fat to be carried," I said, blushing as I said this. I knew that, in the end, he'd see what I meant.

"You are _not_ fat! Don't talk like that about yourself... it's... it's a bad road to go down," he said, framing my face with his hands as I looked at him.

"You've been down there before, haven't you?" I asked seriously, looking at him softly.

He looked from me to his feet, which I could see itched to pace. In the end, he settled himself against the couch and pulled me to him. "You're tired of telling stories, right?" he asked. I could only nod. "Then I'll tell one," I nodded again. "Once upon a time, in a place called Queens, there was a little boy named Don Flack Jr. Junior, as he was called at school, was a very, very measly 95 pounds in the ninth grade. He was super tall, but he weighed very little. Try as he might, he could never put on enough weight to be in football. One day, however, he was approached by his high school basketball coach. The coach asked him to try out for basketball. Well, Junior found that he liked b-ball very much, and soon progressed to the high school level. He went to play for his local Y, and that was where it happened. A kid about his age approached him one day, and told him that there was a team that wanted to challenge their team. The kid wanted Junior to play. Junior did play, and they ended up losing. That wasn't so bad. The other team, however, looked at him and said 'White boy can't jump cause he's got too much baggage.' Junior didn't realize that they were saying he was better at defense than he was at offense; he thought they were calling him fat. But, he held his ground, and soon the other team left. When they left however, Junior was asked to go out to eat with his team. He declined, making up a story about having some place to be. For three days, he didn't eat. Then, he ate only enough to sustain, and went three more days. On his twenty-first birthday, Junior had gone from 100 pounds to 65. His birthday was only a month after the basketball game. When he set himself straight, it took him three months to gain back the weight he had lost."

I looked up at him, shocked that such a compliment could have been taken wrongly. And then, I remembered; Queens was one of the roughest places in the city. Growing up there meant that you went through your whole life with a critic on each shoulder. "I've got a question for you Amy, but if you don't want to answer, that's alright," Flack said after I had had a few minutes to absorb his story. "What did they mean by 'the others'?"

It was my turn to wish for the ability to pace. Instead, I sat back and collected myself. I knew; after he heard the story, he would either leave my side or be there forever. So far, everyone had left. I looked him dead in the eyes as I began to speak. "If I start this story, you have to promise me; no matter how disgusted, enraged, or uncomfortable you become, you won't stop me. I only have the courage to tell it once, so this is it; no repeats, no radio time, and absolutely no replays," I started. He nodded carefully, and I felt his hand entwined with mine. I gave it one gentle squeeze and then moved my hands behind me. It was dramatic effect. "In a land called New Jersey, there was a young girl by the name of An-Amy Blaine. She had just moved in with her very first boyfriend at the age of twenty-one. They had been dating for a year. Amelia Angelica Blaine was a good girl. She wasn't Catholic, but she was a good girl. She was a virgin, she'd never given it up to anyone, even when prompted. Her boyfriend had been told that they could go a long ways, but they'd never go all the way if she didn't want to. One night, they... they were kissing on the bed when her boyfriend tried to take it too far. Angel was suddenly very, very uncomfortable. She got up from the bed, backed against the wall, and said no. He approached her, and she moved further down the wall. He made no attempt to apologize. Instead, he kept approaching her, trying to coerce her into doing something she didn't want to do. She said no. He said yes. She smacked him and started packing. He tried again, and she pulled out a can of pepper spray that her mother had given her before she left. He went out of the room. She packed up everything she owned and moved back in with her roommate. She finished college without ever dating another guy. Later, she got a job in an office building. She started dating a man who worked there as well. They parted as friends and still speak occasionally to this day. The next year, she started waiting tables. She needed another idea to finish her novel series and get more money so she wouldn't have to touch her father's money again. That year, she started dating a man she met in the restaurant. They hit it off really well, and within the year, they were staying at each other's houses. She didn't sleep with him, and she thought he understood why. She had told him what had happened, just like the last one. One night, he tried to force himself on her. She said no, stood up, and went to leave. He hit her, and she was almost out cold. She was up in enough time to get out the door and back to her own apartment. She tried again later that year with an old friend from high school, but it didn't work out. But, now... sh- I... Don, I've never really felt this way about anyone before. Usually, I start dating a guy, and I give them the 'We're not doing it until we're both ready' speech... but..."

"You didn't give that to me," he finished. His hand found mine, and I moved closer to him.

"I didn't really think about it at the time. I could give you a thousand different psychological mumbo-jumbo-terms, but... none of them really apply to this. I don't know why... the closest thing I can get to a guess is some weird unconditional trust... and that scares me..."

"Wh-What?" Don asked, obviously worried that I didn't trust him.

I smiled apologetically. "I trust you unconditionally, Don. The trust isn't the scary part. I'd still probably trust you if you walked out on me right now," I said softly. His hand tightened around mine in protest to the thought of walking out. "It's the unconditional part. The last time I trusted someone unconditionally, he tried to rape me and it scared me, Don. I went a year and a half before I could trust anything possessing a Y chromosome again. I didn't grow up in a sheltered home; I'd turned away hundreds of sexual advances and even a few loonies that tried to take it to the next level, but... I'd never trusted any of them as unconditionally as I trusted... as I trusted him, and to have that trust betrayed... It may not sound logical, or normal to you, Don, but... it's a natural, founded fear to me. And... some part of me still can't bring itself not to trust you that way."

"Some subliminal sign?" he asked with a smile.

"FYI, I'm pretty sure you meant subconscious, but yeah... you get the gist of it. That's the psych 101 talking, though. The rest of me (the big part that considers human psychology a fraud) just thinks it's a This-Is-The-One-Thing-That-Was-Meant-To-Be thing, if you believe that," I said, blushing.

He put his free hand against my cheek and smiled. "You're very beautiful when you blush, you know," he said softly, and I felt him closing in. My heart began to pump faster, but strangely, there was, for the first time in a long time, no fear. _Maybe this__** is**__ one of those This-Is-The-One-Thing-That-Was-Meant-To-Be Once-In-A-Lifetime-Opportunity Hold-Onto-Your-Hat things after all._ For once, I leaned in without trepidation, without fear, and without any reservations. I wasn't scared; just horny and in love.

When he pressed his lips against mine, I rolled over, planting one knee on either side of his hips. My hands were suddenly tangled in his hair, and his hands were on my hips, holding me steady as I rose above him. Somehow, those hands felt right at home where they were. I could taste every inch of his mouth, and yet, I wanted more. For a while, it seemed like I'd get my wish. He stood up from the couch, and I wrapped my legs around his waist, lacing my fingers behind his neck and refusing to break the kiss to say that I was too fat to be carried. I think that he knew that the abuse suffered by my third boyfriend extended far beyond what I told him, but it was a conversation for a later time. I could have been wrong. It's been known to happen.

He made it up the stairs and to the bed before we had to break the kiss. He went down backwards, and I ended up on top. He shimmied up the bed and his hands were on my waist again. I slid down him and nestled myself into him. I planted one hand on either side of him and let our lips crash together again. He started to pull my shirt off before it happened.

_"Gazing through the window at the world outside wondering will Mother Earth will survive, hoping that mankind will stop abusing her this time,"_ his phone sang, and I groaned. I knew that he had to go to work; I don't know how, but I knew.

"Flack," he answered. "Double homicide up on Broadway? Be there in fifteen," he said softly. "I gotta go."

"I know," I whispered. "Call me when you get the chance, ok?"

"Always," he said, and he leaned up against me. I felt his lips on mine again, and part of me wanted to see how fast I could make him scream for me. Too soon, however, the new and much more cautious Amy Blaine was back in control. Angel Blaine, good little girl, had died when Vickie Reed had tried to rape her, and in her place, Amy was born. I started going by that, and even went so far to change the name on my driver's license and registration to that before I told anyone what happened.

Don's lips left mine, and I swung my leg back over, freeing him effectively. He pulled me off the bed and into a kiss again before he started down the stairs. I wanted to make him come back so badly, but I knew that I could never stand in his way when he was on the job.

He looked back at me the whole way down the stairs.

_**Ok, no tomatoes. I know I've been out of the game for a while. I apologize profusely for my recent creative slump. I've been working night and day on my novel, and am currently in the process of getting published, so cross your fingers. But fear not. I have seven updates ready and waiting. I'm back in the game.**_

_**Sorry, but I had to keep you waiting just a little longer for the lemon. And, in a few chapters, we have a few surprises in store for our CSI team. The action is about to pick up.**_

_**3 Midnight**_


	7. Chapter Six Lemon Not Interrupted

Chapter Six- Lemon... Not Interrupted

That night, as I lay tossing and turning in my great, big, and now vastly empty looking bed, I made a decision that affected everything that came after it. For the better or the worse is your decision for yourself. Maybe, at the end, I'll tell you what I think it has done to me. That's if you're lucky.

That night, tossing around in that strangely empty room, reviewing everything in my now three week old relationship that had flown by because of my mother's funeral, I knew what I wanted to do in the morning. In that morning, I was going down to the nearest drug store to purchase a little golden box and hide it away in my night stand. The rest was up to Don.

I don't know exactly what made me make that decision. Maybe it was my Ma's voice, repeating in my head from one day as I sat at her desk at the precinct. I was seventeen, fifteen years younger and less wise than I was that night, but I felt so ready for a lot of things. My mother looked me dead in the eyes and said "I know what's floating around in there, _mi hija_; I was a teenager once too." My biological mother was fourth generation Spanish-American, and still spoke very excellent Spanish. Hija means daughter. "_Mi hija_, you are not ready for half the things that you think you are. But, the decision to lay with a man is yours. All I ask is that you use something to keep yourself safe. All your dreams hinge on one thing; not ending up like me."

It could have been Mom, begging me to wait until _I_ and I alone was ready before I did anything. She didn't care if I was married or not, so long as _I_ was taking the initiative. That was the one thing she prized in her children most; their ability to lead when others would lead wrongly. She valued that more than any other aspect of our lives. She knew that we would never fall behind.

What I think it was most, however, was that first night after our first "date" so to speak. Sitting on that couch, being asked if I would regret what might have happened had we continued and had I ignored that fate-less phone call was a first for me. No man had ever cared enough to ask me if _I_ would regret what was about to happen. The men I'd dated in the past had all believed that _they_ were the most important, and if _they_ didn't regret it, neither would I. Who knows? Maybe if I had given in to Vickie's advances, I would have enjoyed it. But I never would have made it to Don. I know that now. Lying in that bed, I didn't know what was to come of my first night with a man. I didn't know how potent falling in love could be until I'd already fallen.

Eventually, I fell to the clutches of sleep. I dreamt sweet dreams void of anything resembling Vickie Reed or Dave Nuvutony. I dreamt of the blue eyes of the man I loved.

I did not, unfortunately, wake up to the sizzle snap sound of bacon being fried. I woke up, instead, to Dani California burning out of my cell phone; Eli was calling again. Part of me feared he would say Dad was dead too, because I couldn't take so many good things in such short notice.

"Hey Eli, what's up?" I asked softly, answering the phone.

_"I just wanted to see if you got what you were all hot under the collar for, honey,"_ Eli's ginger-snap voice asked. He was laying it on thick that morning.

"Nope. He got called out on work," I laughed.

_"You are gonna __**have**__ to hog tie that man down to get what you want, aren't you?"_ Eli laughed.

"Well, there may be some hog tying for you, but I'm not planning on roping him to the bed anytime soon. I don't think he needs it. He was just as annoyed as I was by the sound of it," I said. Eli was joking and I knew it.

_"Well, you tell him that he better take a few vacation days and treat you right,"_ Eli laughed.

"Anything else I should pass along?"

_"Well, you could tell him that if things don't work out with you he could always-"_

"Good-bye, Eli," I laughed.

_"Wait, I'm serious this time; you and I have to go out for breakfast this Saturday. We have things to talk about. I spoke to Jake last night. He said that the Policeman's Ball is coming up in a few weeks, and one very mysterious Don Flack was seen getting two; count 'em, two!; invitations to it, one of which he said was for a very, very attractive young lady with piercing sapphire eyes and one hell of a punch. I think we all know who he's talking about."_

"He must be seeing someone else because I'm not that attractive," I muttered darkly.

_"Oh please, doll, you are the __**Queen**__ of attractive to that man."_

"I'm seriously going to get going, though, Eli. I'm going to get a shower and run down to Walgreens for a moment," I replied, ignoring his comment.

_"Mmmm, did we forget protection last night?"_

"Nothing happened last night to warrant it, Eli. Good-bye," I sighed.

_"Good-bye,"_ Eli laughed.

I shut the phone and started toward the shower. No sooner did I get to the door than the phone started singing Behind Blue Eyes; Don's ring tone.

"Good morning, Don. Have fun last night?" I asked with a smile, headed for the bathroom.

_"Nope. You weren't there; how could I have fun? Look, I was thinking; you, me, a bottle of red wine, and this great, great seafood restaurant just off Broadway. It has a beautiful view of the city and the dining is great,"_ he said, and I could hear him smiling.

"You've got me hooked; what time?" I asked, shuffling toward the water supply.

_"Well, I was going to swing by your apartment early and make you lunch, that way I'd be making up for running out on you last night. I could make breakfast too, while I'm at it,"_ he offered.

"You're coming up the elevator right now, aren't you?" I asked with a smile.

_"How'd you guess?"_ he laughed.

"You sound too much like a giddy school boy for your own good sometimes, Don," I giggled.

_"I'm only giddy when I'm coming to see you,"_ he replied, and I heard a sharp tap on the door.

"It's unlocked. I'm getting in the shower," I said softly.

"Can I hop in too?" I heard from downstairs.

"No, but you can start breakfast if you want," I laughed.

Softly, I stepped into the bathroom and began running the water. Carefully, I stripped out of the clothes I was wearing and stepped under the spray. Don, amazingly, did not come up, even though I was joking. Soap, lather, rinse; wash hair, rinse, condition hair, rinse; shave legs; shave pits; wash face; all part of my normal, everyday routine. The only thing not normal was me. A horde of butterflies opened up in my stomach, and I could feel them fluttering around. Silently, I stepped out of the shower and threw on underwear, jeans, a bra and a tank-top. I pulled on my favorite t-shirt and a long jacket to go over it before I slipped into my shoes and went down stairs. In my haste, I put on my platforms, the monumental shoes that forced me to communicate with Don for the first time. Silently, I smiled as I looked down at my feet, remembering that morning at the coffee shop.

"Hey," I said as I walked up behind him. I wrapped my arms around him and felt him lean into me. "I'm going to run down to Walgreens for a second. I'll be right back."

"Don't take too long," he said with a smile.

"Trust me, I won't," I laughed.

Silently, I headed down to the elevator. Once inside, I waited anxiously for it to hit the ground floor. I stepped out, only to find my father entering the building. _God-fucking-damnit-why-didn't-he-get-hit-by-a-train-this-is-so-not-fucking-fair_; I started out of the building with my head ducked. The doorman, seeing both me and my distressor, quickly called my father over. As I passed him, I surreptitiously gave him a once over. He was beginning to show his ripe old age of 50, and I could tell that living without Mom hadn't done him any good. He was showing all the signs of malnutrition, including the fact that he was huffing and puffing on the walk from the door to the desk.

"Dad?" I asked softly. It was a leap of faith.

"Hello, Amy," he said softly, and I could see kindness in his eyes.

"Do... Do you want to come up to the apartment with me?" I asked softly again, scared to hear him say yes, even more terrified of hearing him say no.

"You... you look like you're headed out somewhere," he said carefully.

"It's just a little errand; I can do it later," I replied.

"If you don't mind," he whispered. "I won't bug you about that job anymore."

"I know," I whispered.

"Don?" I asked softly, stepping into the apartment.

"I thought you were headed out," he called from the kitchen.

"Is he living with you?" my dad asked carefully.

"No, he's just here very early because he had to run out last night," I answered casually, as if this were an everyday question. Inside, I was terrified. "Don, set an extra place at the table."

"Why? Did you run into Danny or something?"

Carefully, I slid out of my shoes and padded my way toward the kitchen. Behind me, my father followed. "Dad, this is my b-boyfriend, Don. Don, this is Roger Blaine," I said carefully, almost but not quite choking on the word boyfriend.

"He's not..."

"He's not like Vic, no," I whispered. I watched in awe as Don shook my father's hand. The transformation from frail old man seeking out his daughter to strong, Blaine business man was quite extraordinary. He hadn't always been sleek, but he'd always had a commanding presence. Blaine family tradition mandated that he took over the business my grandfather had built only after my grandfather had died. He had refused to accept any money that Grandpa Blaine had tried to offer, and thusly we'd been very homely people in my youth. Grandpa had died when I was sixteen, at the ripe old age of 101, and Dad had taken over the company. He had sent us kids money, as I later found, not because he was trying to buy us off, but because he was trying to make up for us never having anything as children. I only told people that he'd been trying to buy us off because no one else but I knew the truth.

"It's my pleasure to meet you, Don," Dad said. As soon as they released hands, my father was frail, old, and way too much like a fifty year old for my liking.

"No, the pleasure is mine," Don replied, and he guided my father to one of the four chairs around the table.

"You didn't have to put everything back up, Don," I said softly. "I would have gotten it when I got back."

"Nah, I wanted to," he said, and I watched him turn toward the eggs. He was suddenly very, very guarded.

"Can I talk to you for a second?" I asked quietly, and he nodded. We retreated to the living room. "You remember those stories they told last night about Dad trying to buy us off? It wasn't true."

"But you-"

"I know what I said, Don. Dad's always asked me to keep what he was after a secret. He's got this macho I'm-A-Better-Businessman-Than-Father complex that's a mile wide and seventeen miles long, and he is a better businessman than he is a father, but that's not the point. The point is you're acting like he physically abused me as a child or something but you don't want to lash out at him. He was never home _to_ abuse me as a child. He had to work three jobs just to keep food on the table. The only time I ever saw him was after Eli moved out and it was just him, me, and Ma, and then that was rare because he had the company to run. And no, I'm not making excuses for him not being there. Mom died, and, as much as he was never there, he loved her all the same," I explained softly.

"What was he doing having an affair, then?" Flack whispered harshly.

"I wasn't," my father answered. He stood straight and proud in the doorway, and I felt my eyes water up. Some part of me knew that he had come here just to tell Don what had really happened because he knew I couldn't. It was his last gift to me. "And I'm here now to set the record books straight. All through our marriage, we kept trying for a little girl. The first time Lana was ever pregnant, it was with a girl, but she was still-born. After that, we kept trying, but ended up with five boys. By the time Eli rolled around, the doctors told her that she couldn't have any more babies. It would most likely have killed her and the child if she tried. She stopped eating. She stopped drinking. She wouldn't get out of bed. She wanted a daughter so badly, and I was desperate to please her. I loved her, Detective, and if that made me a desperate man then it made me a desperate man. I appealed to her not to make herself try again. She had a solution. My father had one gift that he gave to me; one and one alone; he gifted us a maid to do the housework. He paid her well. Her name was Mariah. She was a pretty, young, Hispanic girl; barely eighteen. You would have been just barely three at this point, I'm guessing. Lana asked me to try with her; to get a girl. She was due in for one; she'd already had a set of triplet boys. I tried not to. She was adamant; try with Mariah or try with her, it was my choice. I tried with Mariah. It took, and nine months later, she had a bouncing baby girl."

"God, that means she was..."

"Yeah, Don, she was forty-two when you got to her," I said with a smile.

My father fell silent, and I watched him start toward the door. "I hate to tell and run, but..."

"You could stay for breakfast," I offered.

"No, I've got to speak to Eli next," Dad said.

"I'd watch out when you go over there; Eli's got a new boyfriend," I warned.

"I'll keep that in mind," my father said, and for the first time in my memory, he smiled.

That was the last time I ever saw my father alive. It would be three months until he died, but I never saw him again after that moment. As he left, I turned to Don and buried my head in his chest. I knew my father would never turn back to comfort me; he wasn't that type of father, but when he turned around, I knew that, for once in his life, he gave a damn. Don wrapped one arm around me, trying to calm me. After a moment, I looked up at him.

"You can go now, if you'd like. I'd understand if you want to leave," I whispered.

His lips were on me like a magnet. "Never... Ever... Suggest... That... I... Would... Leave... You... For... Such... A... Stupid... Reason... Again," he muttered between kisses. He kissed the trails my tears had left. He kissed the hollow of my throat. He pulled the sweat-shirt down around my arms and kissed my shoulders. He kissed me until the world was spinning and I had to step back. I hated that.

I took a deep breath, and then looked back up at him. I had grasped his hand as I moved away, letting him know that I wasn't going to make him leave. "I think I should probably go to Walgreens," I murmured.

"So that's what you're going for," he said with a smile.

"Hey, I never thought I'd need them," I giggled. "I'll be back."

"I'll be here and breakfast will be on the table," Don said softly.

Carefully, we were entwined on the couch, watching a movie, when Don's phone went off. We both sighed and Don answered it.

"Flack. Hey Messer, what's happenin?" he answered. "Over here? Ok, the door's unlocked and she's not protesting."

I giggled softly and nodded. "Come right in," I laughed.

"He says he's coming over to supervise lunch and any activities that follow," Don laughed.

"Ah, we have a sex life guard, huh?" I smiled.

Don nodded, laughing. A half an hour later, when Don and I were less gracefully entwined, Danny knocked once and entered. We had carefully separated, and I could see that Danny knew what we had been doing. A blush crept up his cheeks, and Lindsay entered the apartment behind him, carrying a baby carrier with her. In the presence of a child, Don and I sat up, and settled for entwined hands and heads resting on each other's bodies. Danny sat down on the couch beside Don and Lindsay took the easy chair to rock the baby. Truly, she was a cutie-pie. The little girl was sweet looking, and very asleep. Her parents, however, looked very tired. Danny kept nodding off beside Don, and I knew why they came over.

"You came for lunch, didn't you?" I asked with a smile. Danny looked at me with a seemingly innocent smile on his face and nodded. Lindsay just flat out nodded. "Ok, I have an idea. We put the baby in the crib, you two go take a nap in the guest room, and Don and I will make lunch," I offered.

They nodded. Don looked at me with a strange smile on his face. "Flack, I like this girlfriend. You'd better keep her," Danny said groggily.

"I'm planning on it. Let me take you two upstairs," Don said softly, guiding his friends up the stairs while I took the baby from Lindsay. Silently, I rocked her while Don guided Danny and Lindsay to the bedroom. Carefully, I ascended the steps and took the baby to the nursery, where I put her down in the crib. In silence, I descended and started into the kitchen. I pulled down a big pot from the rack above the island in the kitchen. I filled it with water, dropped a small pat of butter in the pot and turned the burner on. By the time that was done, Don's hands were around my waist. "You're way too generous for your own good," he smiled.

"I know," I returned, and I started working. By the time the water was boiling, a salad was chopped up and sitting on the counter. Don was running up stairs periodically to check on the baby. Lunch was looking to be fairly eventful.

Silently, I slipped into the black dress that Eli had once called "As little-black-dress as Amy will _ever_ get," and went to the bathroom mirror. A little smoky shadow and eyeliner, and I was good to go. I slipped the silver Celtic braid onto my left wrist, followed shortly by the white gold ring that my mother had given me as a graduation present. My hair was curled and piled on top of my head, with more bobby pins in it to count. Somehow, without any assistance necessary from Eli, who was only a phone call and a half a block away, I had managed to create a good look for myself. I slipped down the stairs and walked up behind Don, who was dressed up in a suit.

"Mmmm, have I ever told you that you look better than anything else on the menu?" he asked me, and his lips were on my neck again.

"Hey, after dinner, I'm all yours," I giggled.

"Then let's go!"

Giggling softly, my legs wrapped around his waist, Don carried me up the stairs to the bedroom. I hadn't had a whole lot of wine, and yet I felt very lightheaded. Maybe it was oxygen starvation; as soon as the elevator doors had closed, I had been all over him. My hands once again buried themselves in his hair as we hit the bed. I kicked the heels off of my feet carefully before I started pulling bobby pins out of my hair Don watched all this with a smile plastered to his face, and finally, my hair fell in curled waves past my shoulders. Slowly, sensually, he unzipped the back of my dress. He slipped the straps off my shoulders carefully, and then wormed it down past my waist.

"Now I was not expecting that," he murmured, looking at the very, very new lingerie that barely covered me. It had been a birthday present from Eli that I'd never gotten to wear before this.

Silently, I tugged on his tie, pulling his head up and his lips against mine as I undid the cloth from around his neck. Not breaking the kiss, I began to slowly undo the buttons on his shirt, straddling him as I did so. Carefully, I pulled the shirt down around his shoulders, letting it pool and trap his wrists while I slipped up and settled myself against him for a moment. For a second, there was no movement. Then, I made my way back down and undid the catch on his belt. He, I found, had removed the shirt from around his wrists. He pulled my head back up to his level and planted a kiss on my lips before he flipped us over. Thusly, his knees were planted on either side. Quickly, not able to bear the agonizing foreplay any longer, I pulled his pants down to his knees. He lifted up quickly, and the pants were dispatched.

Within moments, we were naked in each other's arms.

_**Ok, I know; the chapter title says lemon. Technically speaking, it is a lemon. I'm no good at sex scenes, but there will be some. I'm trying my hardest. Guys... please... don't... not the safe... don't!**_

_**Ouch...**_

_**3 Night**_


	8. Chapter 7 It's Still Rock and Roll to Me

**Bloody hell! I've left you with... well... with nothing of worth while recognition. I apologize. Between school and work (plus this huge thing called a crush I've got on the boss man) I've been a busy little under paid, under appreciated, overworked intern... not. Under appreciated... more like over appreciated and occasionally over estimated. Overworked? Hah! not even close.**

**I'm rambling, aren't I?**

***smack***

Chapter Seven- Still Rock and Roll to Me

When I woke up in his arms, every piece of the unsolvable puzzle that is and was my life fell into place right before my eyes. I could see where I would end up so clearly. I could see myself growing old in his arms, and I knew that there was no other person I'd rather grow old with than Donald Flack Jr. I don't know how and I don't know why, but the whole world fell into place right then and there. I knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that I loved him as unconditionally and irrevocably as my father loved my step-mother. I knew, Jake would taunt me for an eternity if I ever told him about my revelation. But, of course, he would have all the time in the world at the Policemen's Ball.

"Mmmm, good morning," Don said softly, placing a soft kiss on my forehead.

I looked up at him and he smiled down at me softly. I started to try to get up, but before I could get there, he was lifting me off the bed. "Good morning to you, too, but you don't _have_ to carry me," I managed through a yawn.

"I know, but I figured you'd be headed for the shower. It just so happens that I need one too," he smiled.

"Ah, now that's interesting because my shower just so happens to be big enough for two people to fit in it. That would be conserving water, now wouldn't it?"

"And conserving water is healthy for the environment," Don laughed, setting me down on my feet inside the stall. I giggled softly and turned the hot and cold water on. I stood upright and turned around, only to be backed under the heavy duty spray by a powerful kiss. I wrapped my fingers in his hair as he backed me up against the wall. Silently, he lifted me up and settled me on his waist.

"The point of this was to get a shower, not to have sex," I laughed softly.

"And who said anything about sex?" he asked, grinning what was fast becoming my favorite modest crooked grin.

Instead of a response, I pressed my lips to his. He took the hint.

"Ah, shit," Don cursed, looking at his phone.

"Mac?" I asked, pulling his soiled dress shirt over my shoulders.

"Flack," he answered the phone. "Danny, never do that again," he growled. "A gentleman never kisses and tells. Oh, like I asked to hear that. Messer I swear," he was looking at the floor, pacing and talking at the same time. Instantly, however, his mood lightened. "I thought she said she was never going through that again?" he listened. "Well that's good. How about we meet you for lunch?" he listened again, and I watched his face break into a smile. "No, I'm not moving in with her, but I might as well split up my suits. I'm here often enough," he laughed. "Yeah, we'll meet you on the ground, ok? Congratulations, Messer."

"I'm guessing number two?" I giggled, pulling on a pair of jeans that I thought were mine.

"Honey, I realize you like being in my pants and all, but I didn't think that meant literally..." he trailed off, looking beneath my waist.

"Oops," I murmured, looking down and realizing that they weren't my jeans. I started to take them off, but I felt his hands on my arms in an instant.

"They look better on you anyway," he said with a smile, and he kissed my forehead. I melted against him with a sigh, unable to understand or contain the bliss inside me. "You keep looking at me like I'm going to leave any moment now. I'm not going anywhere, Amy, I promise."

"I know," I whispered. He looked at me skeptically. "Really, I know. Part of me can't understand why you'd want to stay, though."

"What do you mean?" he asked softly.

"I mean that... Don, every relationship I've had up to this point was based solely on the sex part of it. They wanted it from a rich girl, they tried to get it from a rich girl, and they got turned away by a rich girl, so they left. The part of me that's stuck back in that room with that first boyfriend I told you about keeps telling me that after a man gets it, he's supposed to leave. And... I don't want you to go..." I murmured. "That, and I look like shit."

He framed my face in his hands and made me look at him. His eyes blazed with fire that I'd never seen before, and I was scared, not for my safety, but for the safety of everything breakable in the apartment. "I don't know who told you that, and I don't want to know because if I ever find out who told you that, they're getting shot. Know this; whoever told you that was lying flat out. You are the most beautiful woman on the planet and I'm never leaving you," Don snarled. But, what he said next was too choked to be angry. "I-I love you too much to leave you."

My heart stopped. I couldn't breathe. I looked into those eyes and saw nothing but truth in them. He loved me. He _loved_ me. _He_ loved _me_. It was impossible to understand, and yet, I repeated the mantra back to him as if I'd said it a thousand times. It slipped between my teeth without my meaning to say it, and I found that, as soon as I said it, I knew it was true.

"I love you too," I whispered, unable to tear my eyes away from his. I put one hand on each of his hips and pulled myself closer. "I love you, too," I repeated.

I have no idea how long we stood there before we moved again. It could have been seconds, minutes, or hours. However long it was, it was too short. But, I knew that we had a lunch date to keep, and we had gotten up late in the first place. Silently, we finished getting dressed, and started down the stairs. Halfway down, platform shoes (they'd been growing on me steadily... wouldn't know why) firmly in place on my legs, I reached out and took his hand. It was unbearable now, the thought of not having any kind of physical contact with him. I felt a small blush creep into my cheeks, but I forced that back. I had found my other half; I was never letting go. Never.

When I sat down beside Don at the pizzeria, both Lindsay and Danny were looking between the two of us like we were Siamese twins or something. They shared a look, nodded once, and accused us in unison.

"You guys had sex last night," they said softly.

I looked at him, then back at them, then at him again before I found a smile on my face. Lindsay broke out into a wide smile and grasped my free hand from across the table. She gave it a gentle squeeze before letting go. At that exact moment, the shop owner himself set four slices on the table; one pepperoni and mushroom which was Danny's, one spinach, broccoli and tomato which was mine, one pepperoni which was Don's, and one anchovy, spinach, taco sauce, feta, cauliflower, and baked beans slice which was Lindsay's.

"Definitely pregnant," Don and I murmured in unison before we started in on our slices.

"So, I heard you put in for a new criminologist to be hired onto our shift, Don," Danny said after a few bites.

"Y-You... what?" I asked softly, looking at him.

"If you don't want the job, you just have to say no," Don whispered. "But the team needs someone like you, and you're the best person in the city as far as I'm concerned."

"I-I don't... I... There's no way... What about..." I spluttered, searching, as I had all my life for a reason not to take it. And, it hit me; a reason not to. All my life, I'd grasped at straws, looking for a reason to doubt myself. I'd never taken a leap of faith before Don, and, after last night, I had no reason to believe I'd ever have to again. My knight in shining armor, however, had handed me one more cliff to lean over and look out of before deciding it was too high; I'd never reach the bottom safely. It was too slick; I'd slip and fall and die. It was too dangerous; I'd get scared. But reflecting silently in that pizzeria, I found that I had every reason to start the climb anyway. A couple cases ago, they'd been looking in the wrong direction for a killer. Whose guidance had saved them? Mine. Time after time, who had pointed teachers in the right direction on consultant cases? I had. I was strong enough to bear the burden, smart enough to help out, and capable enough not to be a burden myself. One minor detail popped into my brain, however. "What about the fact that I'm seeing you?"

"Doesn't matter. Mac's philosophy is keep it personal," Danny answered.

"You really would be a real help in the lab, Amy," Lindsay said.

"I-I'll... I'll take it," I whispered.

"I understand that you don't—You'll take it?" Don said, disbelieving. "Seriously?"

"Yeah," I laughed.

"And you said she'd be a tough nut to crack," Danny laughed.

"I'm finding all sorts of reasons _to_ take the job, so why not? I have the credentials. And, I mean, come on, with the internet killer, you guys would have one more unsolved case if I hadn't said something," I giggled.

"True. Very true," Don said, wrapping his arm around my shoulders.

"I'm goin' in later; want me to tell Mac that she's lookin' for work?" Danny asked.

"Yeah," Don answered.

"Are you going in?" I asked carefully.

"No, I took a few vacation days. I figured I'd spend some time out of the office, you know, catch up with the girlfriend, move some clothes around so I'm not running back to my apartment if I get caught at your loft; that kind of thing," he replied softly, pressing a kiss to my hair.

"Sounds like fun. Want some company?" I asked with a smile.

"Sure would," he laughed.

Carefully, I hung Don's suits in my closet. For almost an hour, something that he had said while on the phone with Danny had been bugging me. I couldn't help it; it gnawed at my subconscious like a vicious little beaver, and it made me angry that I couldn't make it go away on my own. _I'm not moving in with her,_ he had said. The more I thought about it, the more I wondered why. Of course, I knew he wasn't leaving me. He had proven that already. But, why not? Why not move in together? We were great, we were in love, and we were beginning to spend time at each other's apartments more often than not.

I couldn't help it; it bugged me.

"Hey, you seem off. What's eating you?" Don whispered in my ear, sneaking up behind me so quietly that I had to stomp the urge to scream. He was definitely a mind reader though, and I leaned back into his embrace.

"It's nothing," I said softly.

"It doesn't seem like nothing," Don replied, spinning me around to face him.

"It's really, really, really stupid."

"It can't be."

"Why not?"

"It's bugging you, therefore it is not stupid," he reasoned.

I smiled a little. "Oh, but it is."

"C'mon, tell me," he said, and he plunked down right in the middle of my closet, pulling me down with him.

"This apartment is way too big for one person," I muttered. "And... it seems so empty when you're not in it."

"So what do you plan to do about this issue?" he asked. I could hear the smile in his voice.

"Why don't you move in?" I said softly, leaping on faith again.

He looked at me, eyes wide, and I realized that I would fall flat. The smile left my face and I moved to get away; a reflex action that had once saved my life. I should have known, however, that there was no way I was getting away that easily. "Hey, I didn't say no, and it wasn't stupid," he said, pulling me back to him. "I just didn't expect that to be what was bugging you, that's all. But, if I'm moving in, we'd better get working because I've got to get packed."

"T-Today?" I asked carefully, not wanting to betray my enthusiasm.

"Why not?"

I smiled and we stood up. We started out of the closet, but I stopped. Carefully, I grabbed a bag that I kept ready in case I was doing an overnight babysitting job at Jake's or something. I slung the bag over my shoulder and ran to catch up to him.


	9. Chapter Eight Double Dates

Chapter Eight- Double Dates

When I woke up next to him in bed for the second time in a row, I knew that I could get used to it. The idea of permanency had once been driven from my mind in every way imaginable, but that didn't matter. I was ready to not be so alone anymore. Even if it meant we'd be seeing each other almost every hour of the day, since I would probably be either in the bull pen or on the scene at all times, I was ready to work, to help, and to love unconditionally.

"Good morning. We need to get up," Don said softly, and I lifted my head to look at him.

"Mmm, but I wanna stay here," I murmured, laying my head back down.

"We have to get me moved today, sweetheart," he said softly.

"Donnie, I wanna sleep," I murmured again, planting myself firmly on top of him.

"Donnie?" he asked.

I blushed bright red. "Pretend I didn't say that."

"Alright, Amy-kins," he said softly, running a hand down the bare skin of my spine.

"Donnie, I swear," I growled, straddling him.

"What do you swear?"

"I swear you drive me nuts," I growled, leaning down to capture his lips with my own.

All in all, I was finding that I liked waking up next to him.

Carefully, we stacked the boxes on top of each other next to the door, being mindful that everything breakable was going last. A small tap on the door, however, surprised us both and I almost dropped the box of plates I had. I set it down carefully, trying not to burst out laughing, and waited behind the door as Don opened it.

"Mac?" he asked cautiously.

"We need to talk. Where is she?" Mac asked from outside.

I stepped out from behind the door and ducked under his arm. "Right here, Detective Taylor," I said softly. I was scared, god I was scared, but I wasn't worried.

"You have something you need to clarify with me," he said, and he handed me a photograph. "He's not one of the Rose boys, and he's not one of your brothers; who is he?"

"Why?" I asked. "What did he do?"

"He's dead," Mac said.

Don's arms were not there to catch me as I fell to the floor. I wrapped my arms around my knees and buried my head. "Who killed him?"

"We're still working on it. Who is he?"

"... He's Eli's... boyfriend, lover, domestic partner; whatever the hell you want to call it. That picture was taken about a month ago; Eli made me go out to lunch with him and had Mickey pick me up," I said softly.

"Where were you last night?" Stella asked from the doorway.

"She was," Don coughed, clearing his throat, "With me. All night."

"Can you prove that?" Mac asked carefully.

"You want her to show the bruises? Or perhaps I could do that for you? Trust me, she was here _all_ night," Don growled. "What is all this about?"

"Why didn't you tell us you were in the system?" Stella asked darkly.

"Because it never seemed relevant to tell you that they put me in while I was in Jersey. It was required that all assistant lab techs went through a complete ten year FBI background check and passed a DNA screen. They then put you in the system," I said in reply. I wasn't getting angry, like Don. Instead, I was focused on how I was going to break the news to Eli.

"I'd really appreciate it if you cut the crap, Stella. She was here. We didn't make it to the bed until five, let alone go to sleep. Now what the hell is going on?"

"Mac, if she was here..."

"Had you seen Mickey within the last week?" Mac asked.

"No. Mickey was out of town until two days ago, and Eli was at Jake's place. When Mickey came home, I got a _very_ exuberant phone call from Eli detailing exactly what was about to go down. I don't think he got much out time until last night," I said softly.

"Mac, if she hasn't seen him, and she was here last night, then that means..."

"She's a target. The hair was planted and she's a target," Mac said softly.

I felt Don's arms around me, pulling me out of the floor and to him instead. I heard him ask Mac for permission to take me into protective custody, and I heard Mac agree. After that, he left, but Don's protective embrace still held me captive. I heard another knock, and Don called out that it was open. He was hoarse, and he sounded, for the first time, scared. Without a word, Danny, Lindsay, Stella, Hawkes, Mac, and Adam entered the apartment. Don nodded to each of them in turn, and I tried to make my mouth move to say hello, but I couldn't do it.

"Have you moved at all since I left?" Mac asked softly.

"No. She's still in shock. She hasn't said a word," Don said carefully. I forced my head to turn; to look at him. His eyes were red and swollen, like he'd been crying. My first coherent thought was for him.

I reached up with one hand and traced a trail of tears down his cheek. "Why are you crying?" I asked softly.

"Because I'm scared, baby. I'm really scared," he whispered.

"Don't be," I murmured. "Not for me. I'm scared enough for the both of us, so you're not allowed to be scared."

"Why not? You shouldn't have to be scared."

"He's after me. I have every right to be scared. You, however, are not going to sit around here with me. You're going to go find whoever's doing this."

"No. I'm not leaving you alone with some cop."

"Good, 'cause I'm coming with you. This may be some psycho that's got it out for me, but he hurt my brother; he has to pay," I growled.

"Don, I think she's more worried about catching this guy because of her brother than getting him behind bars so he doesn't hurt her," Danny said softly.

"You're not-"

"No way, uh-uh, you're not going all over-protective cop-boyfriend chain-her-to-the-headboard. No, Flack. She wants to help, she's going to help," Lindsay snarled.

I looked up at her thankfully, and then turned to Don. "Don, this is Eli. He killed Eli's best chance at happiness to get my attention. He's got my full attention now, and that's something he doesn't want. Wherever you go, I go. And I will follow you," I said softly.

"Not if I chain you to the headboard," he growled.

"You wanna bet? Call Jake and ask him how many times that worked for Mom and Dad. You're fighting a losing battle, honey," I laughed.

"Don, she's qualified, competent, and we need her help," Mac said, treading lightly. He crouched down beside us, and I looked from him to Don. Sparks were flying between them as Don's better judgment battled with his trust of Mac. I was surprised that smoke and cannon blasts weren't coming out his ears, and I smiled softly at the mental picture that painted. It dissipated quickly when I realized who had won.

"Fine, but you stay with me at all times. Even if I go into the men's room, you stay with me," Don growled.

"Uh-uh; if you go in the men's room, I find Lindsay," I laughed.

Don, despite his fear, smiled and shook his head. Very, very carefully, I stood up. I looked at the boxes stacked in the corner and sighed softly. If it had been any social call I was about to make, Eli would have shot me for not telling him immediately that I had a guy moving in with me. Unfortunately, I was about to drop a bombshell on my brother, and I didn't like it. I could have called Jake to pass off the burden; he was the oldest, after all, and that elected him as official bad-news-giver when Eli was out of commission. But, and there's always a but, I was the one working the case, I was the one who had the bad news, so why spread it? If I told Jake, it would surely fall down the family tree, and then, Eli would get a mangled, garbled, twisted version of the events. Eli could pass the story on if he wanted to, activate the family phone tree if he wanted (so to speak) but why activate it for him? I picked up the phone and called.

_"City morgue, you stab 'em, we slab 'em,"_ came Eli's favorite greeting.

"Eli, that's probably the most over used greeting you have," I said, trying to smile. I couldn't do it.

_"Honey? Amy? What's wrong? Did that big old cop break your heart?"_ Eli asked, always worried about me before all others.

"No," I said, but it came out nom. "Eli, I've... I've got some... some bad news..."

_"If Dad's dead, say no more. I'll break out the wine and we'll celebrate!"_

"No Eli, Dad's not dead," I said. "Eli, it's about Mickey."

_"What about him? He said he was going home to grab a few things, but he's not back yet."_

"Eli, he's not coming back," I whispered. "He's dead."

"Eli? Eli, please calm- Please, Eli, stop- ELI!" I screamed, getting his attention. "Nothing you did could have prevented this."

"I could have locked him up inside the room. I could have chained him to the bed," Eli wailed.

"I thought that was in the plan for last night," I said, trying to cheer him up.

"You know I was kidding," he moaned.

"At the time, I actually didn't."

"And this guy's after you?" Eli groaned, turning his attention to me.

"Yeah, Eli, he's after me. That's why I want you to go get Jake and have him round up everybody and keep them at the firehouse, ok? Tell him Amy said the train's comin home right on the dot."

"Ok," Eli said, memorizing it. He walked drearily down the hall, and I felt my anger flare again. I was no longer scared, which worried Don, but I was mad as hell. Silently, I stalked off down the hall and found Don around the corner standing next to the vending machine. Danny was crouched down, peering in, trying to get his soda out. He was complaining, but hadn't noticed that Don had moved. I made a strangled choking sound and slammed my fist into the machine, which caused the pop to dislodge and fall down the chute.

"Damn," Danny murmured, pulling his pop out.

I felt Don's arms around me as I began to ramble. "We'd better get this guy, Donnie, 'cause I can't take the look on Eli's face. His one chance at happiness is gone because of me. I'm going to tear this guy apart and then I'm moving to Alaska where I can't-"

"Sh, and you are not moving to Alaska. I draw the line at polar bears," Don said softly.

"Mac wants you, ASAP," Stella called down the hall.

"Which one?"

"Amy," she replied.

I started down the hall in silence, followed closely by Don. "Why does he want me?" I wondered aloud.

"Because I've got another crime scene for you to look at," Mac informed me.

"Amy? Who's Angel Blaine?" Stella asked, looking down at a folder on the table.

"... Angel Blaine... is me..."


	10. Notice

NOTICE:

Okay, so I broke my flash-drive with all my files on it and dummy me never got around to backing the damn thing up. So, until I can afford to take it in and get it fixed or whatever, I'm going to _**attempt**_ to write from memory. I can't promise that I'll get all of the stories that I had up exactly the way that they are on the flash drive, which means that I may have to sit down and re-write them. I also can't promise that the flash drive will be fixed and data will be recoverable. In the event of this latter instance, I will finish from memory. And, who knows? Maybe this is a good thing. The thing was getting a little cluttered anyway…

Who the hell am I kidding?

Sorry for the inconvenience,

Midnight Rhymer & Management


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